Page:"A modern Hercules", the tale of a sculptress (IA amodernherculest00wins).pdf/117

Rh "I hear her voice," said the patient, looking up and instantly recognizing her. Her voice had brought him out of his delirium. "I knew I would not die until she came."

"Do not speak of dying," she said, and her voice was mellow and soothing. "You shall live."

"How good of you to speak of hope," said the dying man, "but it cannot be; it is useless. I cannot shake off the icy hand of death. Pray, forgive me that I crossed your life. I loved you well. You did not know, but now I kiss your hand and die."

"Forgive you," she said, "that is mockery. Upon my bended knees, I ask your forgiveness," and the woman, her pride all gone, sank upon her knees by the bedside of the husband she had so deeply wronged.

"If this be your wish," he gently said, "my dying soul confers the gift. Is there not near some man of God, to offer up a prayer for me?"

"You need no mediator," she said, lifting up her head, "your life has been a constant prayer."

"Procure a minister, if possible," said the doctor, addressing the servant, who disappeared, and, as good fortune would have it, shortly returned, having accomplished his mission. Fate had directed the servant to Horatio Nugent!

Ouida was startled beyond expression to see him, but her manner was calm.

"This dying saint," said Ouida, "requests a prayer in his behalf to God."

The preacher approached the couch of death, but when his eyes beheld Paul, his soul was wrenched with agony.

"Paul!" he exclaimed, "I am not fit to pray for him."